


Conspiracy

by 4eyeswordsmith



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Age Difference, Conspiracy Theories, F/M, Fluff, Under-rated character appreciation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 03:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11888718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4eyeswordsmith/pseuds/4eyeswordsmith
Summary: When everything in the world is out to get you, sometimes all you need is someone who'll listen to you.





	1. What Just Happened?

 

If you had told him six months ago that he’d have his associate in his trailer, drinking coffee and wearing nothing but his red plaid shirt and her panties following the one of the most memorable nights of his life, Ronald Jakowski would have laughed.

Rosie McLeach had been his assistant in dealing with supply runs and a various slew of odd jobs that Ron couldn’t handle himself for the past few months. Eventually, she started helping him edit his scripts for his podcast, listen to him rant and rave about whatever conspiracy theory was on his mind at the time. She never agreed or disagreed, she simply listened. Not many people were willing to do that. She was a friend, and now, he supposed, a lover.

The reality of the situation was beginning to set in for him, as the younger, dark-haired woman grabbed her jeans off the floor and put them on.

“Rosie,” he started, quickly averting his eyes and feeling the color rise to his face as she dressed, “I had a really…I mean that was amazing…but kinda sudden ya know and—”

Ron was forced into silence as Rosie kissed his cheek and shoved half a toasted bagel into his mouth. He ate the breakfast now forced upon him as Rosie carefully folded the red shirt and set it on the coffee table.

_BAM!_

The door the trailer was kicked in and Trevor Philips sauntered into the room, his expression one of annoyance.

“Decided to sleep in, Ron? We’ve got supplies to fly out and…” he trailed as he looked from Ron to Rosie and back again, putting two and two together as only he could.

“Oh shit, you’re that quiet chick who thought she’d have some fun stealing from _my_ business,” he said, pointing a finger threateningly at the younger woman.

Ron was torn between protectiveness for her and his own fear of his boss. He fought back a laugh at the look of confusion on Trevor’s face as Rosie rapidly gestured in sign language.   
  
“She—she says of course she’s quiet, she’s mute.”  
  
The Kingpin of Sandy Shores then turned to him in utter shock.

“Since fucking _when_ do you know sign language?!”

“One of my coworkers at my old accounting firm was deaf, we all sorta picked it up,” Jakowski replied, shrinking away. 

“So how long has…this been going on between you two? Because I’m sure at least one of you is aware of the dangers of mixing business and pleasure.”

Rosie merely rolled her eyes at Trevor and Ron felt a surge of both awe and disbelief. Why wasn’t she _afraid_ of him? And how could he ever hope to have even a single shred of confidence like that?

Trevor roughly shoved Ron by the shoulder and shot him that intimidating glare he knew oh-so-well.

“I asked you a _question_ , Ronald.”

“Three months, almost four!” Jakowski squeaked.

“You two’ve been fucking around for nearly four months and you haven’t scared her off with your illuminati crap?” Philips replied, throwing his head back in laughter.

“Erm, no…that was last night…”

“She’s what…20-something years younger than you?”

Rosie began signing at him, as Ron translated.

“‘And Patricia Madrazo is _how_ much older than you?’”

Trevor clenched his jaw at that and drew himself up to his full height.

“You,” he said turning toward Ron, “shut up. And you,” he rounded on Rosie who simply finished off her coffee. “You mention Patricia again and I’ll break every bone in both your hands.”

Rosie set down her cup, kissed Ron’s cheek and headed for the door.

“Oh c’mon,” Trevor grumbled, “no kiss for me?”

Rosie made an obscene gesture that didn’t require Ron to translate. Trevor shook his head at the absurdity of the situation.

“Well this day just got weirder. And I woke up in a cattle yard.”

 

 


	2. Ghost Hunting

The perks of having contacts in the concrete hell that was Los Santos was insider information. Ron had instructed Rosie to keep an eye out for anything suspicious going on in the city and report back to him. He was disappointed that there were no sightings of Annunaki or any other alien overlords. What she did send him was the stuff everyone else was ranting about. The Infinity Killer, the unsolved Lenora Johnson murder, trivial quandaries compared to the truths he had hoped to uncover.

Though, he didn’t like the fact that Rosie was _alone_ among those monsters. Not that she couldn’t handle herself in a fight, she had the scars to prove it, carefully hidden under tattoos. She had even promised to help him with his aim next time she was in Sandy Shores. That had been two weeks ago, not counting their intimate encounter the weekend before that.

Ron had to be honest with himself. He missed having someone who listened to him without instantly telling him to shut up. Someone who wouldn’t write him off as driven mad by moonshine, crystal and the harsh Senora Desert sun. He missed _her_.

Of course, the company was more important. Business before pleasure, that’s what Trevor had said.

 _He says that, then slips off to pick up the maid_ , Ron thought bitterly, thankful that Trevor, as far as he knew, was unable to read minds.

Which was a very good thing as his mind kept drifting back to _that_ night. While it seemed sudden, it certainly didn’t feel like a mistake. There’d been flirting between them for about a month and a half beforehand. It would have happened eventually, he supposed.

Ron was jerked from his thoughts at the sound of his phone going off. He felt a sense of excitement when he saw a text message from Rosie.

 _Hey handsome, you busy? I’m outside._  
  
He looked away from his phone and looked through the window. There she was, standing beside her car and waving at him. Ron stepped out his trailer and smiled, any fear and unease melting away.

“Hey Beautiful,” he said, kissing her forehead as she embraced him. “What are you doing here?” He watched her sign in reply.  
  
“I was bored and had an idea. How’s your knee? Think you can handle a hike?”  
  
Ron winced internally at that. The last time he royally fucked up, Trevor had beaten him with a golf club. Rosie was unaware of this and Ron planned to keep it that way.

“Depends on where we’re going,” he said. Rosie unfolded a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. It was a photocopy of a newspaper article about the death of Jolene Cranely-Evans. 

“I remember when this happened,” Ron said, “it was big enough news that we even heard about it in the Midwest.”  He realized what he just said and groaned. “I just dated myself, great…”  
  
Rosie laughed silently, teasingly grabbing his hat and putting it on her own head.  
  
“I was 12 years old when that happened, okay?”  
  
“I’m not judging,” the mute woman signed. “I’ll drive unless you have any objection.”

“None at all.”

The drive was easy enough. Rosie’s car was faster than his Blazer, not that it could have handled the pair of them. Ron chuckled to himself as Rosie danced in her seat, fully invested in whatever pop song was playing on the radio. It was like she had forgotten he was there. She met his eyes, froze and turned off the radio, pointing a finger at him as if to say “ _You saw **nothing**_ **”**.

“C’mon, I date myself and you do something adorable, we’re even.”  
  
He laughed as Rosie flicked him off and resumed driving.   
  
Once they made it to the campground, Rosie pulled out a small portable cooler from the back of the car and handed it to him. Sandwiches, a couple beers and some candy bars. Admittedly better than the room temperature pizza and moonshine he’d been currently living off of.

“So…I gotta ask… is this a date?”

Rosie smiled as she tugged on a dark green hoodie that was two sizes too big for her, rolling back the sleeves a bit to free her hands.  
  
“Do you want it to be?”   
  
A simple question that Ron wasn’t sure how to answer. He set the cooler down, twisted the cap off a bottle of beer and sipped it. It was weak swill compared to the stuff he brewed but at least this wouldn’t blind him.

“What do _you_ want, Beautiful?” he asked in return.

“To get away for a few hours, spend time with you and see what we can find out here.”  
  
“Sounds like a date to me…”  
  
Ron was surprised as he felt Rosie’s hand grab his own, and he smiled behind his beer bottle in return.  
  
A date it was, then.

 

It was near dark by the time they’d lined up the now empty beer bottles a picnic table. They also included whatever litter they found around the camp. Ron aimed the pistol and fired, the shot glancing off the side a bottle, moving it less than an inch. Rosie tilted her head and walked behind him, taking his arm, altering his stance and moving his wrist. She then stepped back and gave him a thumbs up. Ron focused on the bottle and pulled the trigger. It exploded and knocked an old Sprunk can off the table from the force.

“Holy shit…” Ron muttered, surprised at what he’d just done. He put the gun away and yawned. “It’s getting late, Beautiful. Did you plan on staying out here all nigh—Mmph?!”

Rosie quickly covered his mouth with her hand. There was a strange sound coming from the cliffs. It was far too late for birds. No, this sounded like screams… Rosie’s attention was fixed at the cliffs. She pointed at something and quickly went to the car. Ron himself squinted at the strange figure, pure dread flooding through him.  
  
“Rosie…what is _that_?!”

The younger woman was perched on the roof of the car with a sniper rifle, peering down the scope. She looked away and grabbed Ron’s arm and helped him up, handing him the rifle. He looked down the scope, not believing what he was seeing.

“Okay…that’s a ghost….ghosts are officially a thing….”

He felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his pocket.   
  
_Wanna get closer?_  
  
“No!” he said, looking at her like she had lost her mind. “Do you wanna get possessed?! That’s how you get possessed!”

Ron drove the way back, shaken up by what he’d just seen. He was halfway to Sandy Shores by the time he realized Rosie was fast asleep in the passenger seat. How could she sleep after everything they’d just encountered? The woman was clearly mad.  
  
And, God damn it, that’s what he liked about her.  



	3. The Wake Up Call

Confidence wasn’t Ron’s strong suit and he knew it. He preferred hiding in the background, waiting until whatever threats against the company or himself had either disappeared or Trevor had put them all in closed caskets. However when the immediate threat was Trevor himself…

“Wakey wakey lovebirds!” Philips howled, pulling the ratty, thin blanket off the sleeping pair. “Loving the Impotent Rage jammies, Rosie. I really am. I may steal those.”  
  
Rosie blearily gave him the middle finger as she struggled to remember where the coffee pot was. Ron meanwhile was searching for his glasses. It took him a moment to recall that he was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts but he’d seen Trevor in worse. _A lot_ worse.

“It’s 8 in the morning,” Ron said, fighting a yawn. “What exactly are you doing in my house?”  
  
He was fully awake now at the realization of what he just said and saw that light of warning flicker in his best friend’s eyes.  
  
_“I’m sorry, what was that?”_ Trevor breathed, taking a step forward, while Ron forced himself to step back. He wanted to tell him to get out of his house, to leave them alone. But, as it always did, his courage failed him and he backtracked.  
  
“Wuh—we—I wasn’t expecting a wake-up call. Did something come up?”  
  
Rosie, now dressed and her dark hair thrown into a messy bun lightly tapped her lover’s arm with an opened letter. Ron adjusted his glasses and looked it over.  
  
“You were hired on as a sign language interpreter for an event at the Los Santos Golf Club?”

Rosie nodded and began signing as Ron translated.

“‘I totally forgot it was tonight. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come but it must have slipped my mind.’” Ron shook his head. “Why would I want to go to Los Santos? Let alone a _party_ in Los Santos?”  
  
“I live there,” Rosie signed. “And you could see some of the craziness for yourself.”  
  
Ron wrinkled his nose at the thought. He dreaded the thought of journeying into the city. Every back alley and shortcut was probably brimming with some sort of horror that would rip anyone foolish enough (ie: him) to pieces for daring to step foot there.  
  
“I’m going,” said Trevor in a very matter-of-fact tone. His lackey and the mute looked at him in astonishment. “What? Patricia’s going and she invited me. Her husband had absolutely no issue with it. And she promised to take your girl shopping for the occasion, Ronnie. Mute, be gone with you!”  
  
Rosie rolled her eyes at him, as she always did, and headed out, leaving Ron alone with his employer.  
  
“So…” Trevor went on as Rosie’s car faded from view, “you got any Sunday best lying around or do you wanna borrow one of mine?”  
  
Ron fought back a laugh. He hadn’t had a hit in days and was sure he was hallucinating.  
  
“Since when do you own a suit? Not that I’d ever consider going to some elitist fancy-schmancy—”  
  
“I’m staking the place out for a score, Ronald,” Trevor replied. “I need to see who is there, what the layout is, the security. It’s simple really. Your girl and my Patricia unintentionally gave us the way in.”  
  
“No offense meant, Boss, what exactly do you need me for?”  
  
“You, my neurotic friend, are to act as a distraction. Rant about the government, get drunk on champagne and fuck Rosie in a sand trap, I don’t know. You’ll think of something.”   

Ron groaned as he quickly dressed and followed Trevor next door.  
  
“Fine. But I’m gonna complain the whole time. What’s worth stealing form a country club anyway?”  
  
“I just want a new set of clubs, honestly. Busted my old 9 iron after you fucked up that drug deal.”

Ron’s knee ached at the memory. He was surprised when Trevor pulled out two suits, one off-white and the other burgundy. Neither of them looked even slightly worn and incredibly out of their price range

“These…are name brand,” Ron said, flabbergasted. “How did you even—?”  
  
“Patricia keeps buyin’ em for me. Never figured I’d wear ‘em but, ya know, first time for everything.”  
  
Ron sighed and took the burgundy one.   
  
“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”  



	4. Behind Enemy Lines

This wasn’t right. This was pure insanity. What the royal blue hell was he _doing_ here? Ron had been surprised and even impressed that Trevor had cleaned himself up for the event. He was even more surprised when Patricia Madrazo had quickly altered the suit he’d borrowed to fit him properly using little more than safety pins and double-sided tape.  Ron scanned the crowd, all glitz and glitter. Superficiality at its finest. He found it difficult to breathe when he caught sight of Rosie, wearing a form-fitting dark red dress. She smiled at him and offered him a glass of champagne.

“Ah, no, thank you. You…look great.”  
  
Rosie gestured in thanks and kissed his cheek.

“I’m only needed for the commemoration speech,” she signed, heading to the table they’d been assigned. Trevor and Patricia joined them as well as another couple whom Ron didn’t know.  
  
“Uncle Trevor?!” gasped a blonde young woman, arm in arm with an African American gentleman.  
  
“Oh hey T,” the man said with a grin. “How’s it goin’, homie?”  
  
“Tracey? Franklin? Are you two…I thought Mike…”  
  
Ron’s attention once again went to the crowd, only catching every other word Trevor and this other couple were saying.

“…My business partner, Ronald Jakowski and his girlfriend, Rosie McLeach.”  
  
“Huh?” Ron muttered, snapping back to reality. “Hey.”  
  
“Ohmygod,” Tracey exclaimed, admiring Rosie. “I love your dress!”  
  
After signing in thanks, the two women quickly exchanged phone numbers, Tracey chattering away while Rosie texted in reply. Her date merely shook his head and downed his glass of champagne.  
  
“Yeah, like I was sayin’ homie, Michael and Amanda preferred to have an at-home sorta date and gave Tracey and me their tickets. I ain’t one for this sorta thing. I feel under-dressed, you know?”  
  
Ron nodded in agreement, feeling abandoned as Rosie left the table and went to the end of the hall, taking her place near the commemorative speaker. This place unnerved him. He was just waiting for the moment the glamour faded and these well-dressed socialites were exposed for the reptilian bastards that they were.

After what felt like an eternity and no sign of group metamorphosis, Rosie returned to her place at the table.  
  
“You know, for a fancy place like this,” Trevor was saying, dropping his fork onto his plate in disgust, “I’d figure the food would be better.”  
  
“At least the wine’s good,” Tracey replied behind her third glass of the evening. Rosie herself quickly swiped a mini bottle off the table next to them and into her purse.

“I agree, the food is lacking,” Patricia said.

Franklin chuckled as he said “I think there’s a Burger Shot up the street.”  
  
The six of them quickly slipped out, Trevor calmly sliding into the driver’s seat of an empty limo.  
  
“If we’re getting burgers, we’re goin’ in style!”  
  
Rosie was shaking in silent laughter, looking to Ron as the other members of their party climbed into the car.  
  
“Hungry?”  
  
Ron would have much rather been on the road home by now, but he’d been so nervous about this whole ordeal he’d barely eaten all day.  
  
“I should probably eat something…” he said.  
  
“There are _many_ ways I could take that,” Rosie signed, winking flirtatiously at him. Ron felt himself blush and huffed.  
  
If the group was out of place at the country club, they were more than out of place at the burger joint. Tracey seemed the revel in the looks they were getting, while Franklin and Trevor ordered their meals like it was the most normal thing in the world. Rosie was nodding her head in tune with the radio system while she showed Patricia how to operate the touchscreen kiosk. Ron ordered the first thing he saw on the menu and called it good.

“It’s Rose, right?” Franklin asked as they found a booth big enough for the lot of them. “You can hear, you just can’t talk?”  
  
Rosie nodded, a french fry hanging out of her mouth as she signed. As usual in group settings, Ron took it upon himself to translate.  
  
“‘I was in a car accident in high school. Hit my head on the metal edge near the window…’”  
  
She made a motion of hitting her head and then made a forward slumping motion, grabbing Ron’s arm and laid her chin over it before continuing.  
  
“‘I hit my neck against the steering wheel and fractured my larynx. Even with surgery to repair it, the brain injury I suffered made it so I’d never speak again. But at least I’m alive.’”  
  
Rosie simply sipped her soda and went back to her meal.

“Damn, girl, that’s rough,” Franklin said. “You do talks on safe drivin’ or somethin’?”  
  
Rosie signed in reply, laughing silently.  
  
“She says shit no, it was during an illegal street race. And she’ll quit when she’s dead,” Ron said. “I didn’t know you raced.”  
  
Rosie nodded.  
  
“Jack of all trade, Handsome. Races, smuggling, occasional assassination.”  
  
Ron, not wanting anyone else to hear him, pulled out his phone and tapped Rosie’s name in his contact list.  
  
_[Can’t say I approve of it, but you do you, Beautiful. Are we going to my place or yours?]_  
  
Rosie smirked as she looked at her phone, winking at him as she replied.  
  
**[My place is within walking distance. You done?]**  
  
_[Hell yes. I am going to rip that dress off with my teeth.]_  
  
**[You damn well better.]**


	5. The Morning After

Despite the overwhelming sense of calm, a rarity for him these days to be sure, Ron knew something was off. The room, which he realized in a hazy panic was _not_ his lover’s bedroom, was dimly lit and smelt of alcohol. Not the pecan whiskey Rosie favored, this smelled sharper, cleaner. Antiseptic, that was it.

A hospital room.

 He mentally retraced his steps, trying to recall what he’d done in the past few hours that would warrant this situation. He and Rosie had left their group and headed to her apartment a few streets away. They’d split the miniature bottle of wine Rosie had stolen from the reception between themselves and Ron had attempted to make good on his promise to rip her dress off with his teeth (he’d failed and cut his lip on the zipper pull). He recalled Rosie leading him to the bathroom for a joint shower of sorts…

 And he’d dislocated his knee while attempting to recreate one of those romantic shower scenes that would often show up in movies.   
  
_God **damnit**_.

Now he was stuck, no, _imprisoned_ in a Los Santos hospital, unable to walk and with no one to help him escape. He scanned the room, looking for any sign of Rosie. She’d stay with him in this condition, he knew she would. There was no sign of her, but Ron was surprised to see another familiar face as Chef sat up in the overstuffed armchair once he realized Ron was awake.

“When I heard my sister had been admitted to Mount Zonah with a concussion, I was not happy,” he said calmly. “Brought back a lot of bad memories. Hell, I thought she was still in Liberty City. But when I found out she had been admitted with _you_ … I _knew_ our parents sending her to Catholic school was a bad idea…”

Perhaps it was the painkillers coursing through his veins, but Ron thought Chef was talking to himself more than him.   
  
“Is Rosie all right?” Ron asked, hoping he sounded either drugged or innocent. In his mind, he simply sounded like an idiot.  
  
“She will be in a few days,” Chef replied. “Hit her head against the shower wall trying to steady you. I do _not_ wanna know the details, thank you.” He growled softly under his breath, looking up at the sound of a knock against the doorframe. Rosie was leaning her shoulder against the doorway, wearing a pair of sunglasses and the hospital bracelet still around her wrist.

“Did you escape or are you permitted to wander around?” Chef asked, rising from his seat to help his sister over to the chair he’d abandoned. Rosie signed in reply and Chef grumbled to himself.  
  
“Yeah well… I don’t want you home alone like this so you’ll be staying with me for a few days.”  
  
Ron watched Rosie sign at him and chuckled.  
  
“Your name is Todd?”  
  
“Shut up, man.”  
  
Rosie smiled weakly and patted Ron’s hand, signing at him.  
  
“How are you feeling? I apologize for my brother, he’s a bit of an idiot.”  
  
Chef merely threw his hands up in the air and scoffed.  
  
“I’m _really_ liking these drugs they’re giving me,” Ron replied.

“Yeah, morphine is fun.”  
  
Chef shook his head.  
  
“That is how you got into that car accident to begin with!”  
  
Rosie shook her head.  
  
“No,” she signed, “that was caffeine pills and weed.”  
  
“Speaking of,” Chef said, sitting at the edge of the bed, “I am cutting you off from any ‘taste testing’ the new batches, Ron.”  
  
Jakowski groaned, sinking back into the pillows in annoyance.  
  
“C’mon, Chef, seriously?”    
  
Rosie looked between Ron and Chef and shook her head.

“That’s a bit harsh, Todd.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” Chef replied. “Because if he keeps using, he’ll overdose and break your heart and I’ll have to reanimate him and kill him myself.”  
  
Rosie sighed, curling up on the bed beside Ron and snuggled up to him.  
  
“All right, all right,” Chef hissed, looking disgusted. “I’ll have Ash come get you.”

Rosie gave him a thumbs up and made a shooing motion. Ron relaxed as the younger man left the room and nuzzled against her.

“Well…that was eventful.”


	6. Workplace Injury

Ron might have been high on painkillers but he was functional enough to understand the sign language conversation going on between Rosie and the red-headed woman that had picked them up from the hospital. Ashrin “Ash” Merigold had been Rosie’s best friend since the car accident that had cost her her voice. Deaf-mute since birth, Ash had been tasked with teaching Rosie and her older brother sign language and remained joined at the hip with the siblings ever since.

“You always had a thing for silver foxes but I never thought you’d actually nab one!” Ash was signing as they waited for the light to change.  Rosie merely rolled her eyes, looking annoyed.

“Is your friend aware I can understand what she’s signing?” Ron asked as he leaned out the window.

Rosie turned to him and smiled.  
  
“She’s counting on it. Ash is a bit of a… major flirt.”  
  
Ron sighed as the car pulled up to his trailer. He hadn’t had to use crutches since high school. And like the cause of his current injury, it hadn’t been anything glorious or badass. He’d been shoved down the stairs and had twisted his ankle. And now, decades later, he’d screwed up the same leg in something equally stupid. Of  _fucking_ course.

“Thanks for the lift,” he signed, unsure if he’d remembered the correct gestures. Ash nodded in reply, giving a mock salute. Rosie followed him up to the door, running a hand through her hair.  
  
“Text me if you need anything?” she signed.   
  
Ron nodded and kissed her sweetly.

“You bet,” he replied. “Hey…sorry for landing us both in the hospital. You gonna be all right?”  
  
Rosie smiled, looking tired.

“I’ll be fine. My brother’s being overly protective. I’ll drop by once I’m out of Todd’s house arrest.”

Ron was unsure if Chef disliked him now. He knew that the younger man was a frequent listener to his podcast. Before he and Rosie had hooked up, Ron had wanted to discuss theories concerning the Annunaki. Now, he wasn’t sure if that was going to happen.

“I’ll talk to him,” Rosie continued. “Now, take it easy. I’ll be over in a few days.”  
  
She kissed his cheek and headed back to Ash. Ron hobbled into his trailer and shut the door.

The next few weeks were going to be hell, that much he knew.

Ron sank onto the couch, propping up his injured leg on the dingy coffee table. He hated being left with his own thoughts. His mind always went to bad places. And if Chef made good on his promise, he’d be have nothing to numb the pain or quiet the memories.

He jumped as his door burst open and Trevor stomped into the trailer.  
  
“What the hell did you do?” he demanded.

 _Take a guess,_ Ron thought.

“Dislocated my knee last night.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Trevor replied, looking more angry than sympathetic.

“I slipped.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie…

Trevor growled under his breath, kicking the table Ron had his leg propped up on and caused the injured man to wince.  
  
“Well now you fucked up my plans!” Philips snarled. “We have a business to run, remember?”  
  
“I can handle finances,” Ron muttered, not looking at his so-called best friend.

Trevor looked as though he wanted to hit him.

“Not what I was hoping, but I suppose I can put your girl to work. Not like you’ll be bedding her anytime soon with that thing on your leg.”  
  
Ron grunted under his breath.

More of those painkillers sounded very nice right now.


	7. 21st Century Judas

Ron was smiled to himself as he heard Rosie’s car pull up to his trailer. He’d ordered pizza ahead of time and had it set out. It wasn’t exactly a candlelight meal, but it was something. They hadn’t seen each other in several weeks. Trevor had kept his word and put Rosie to work while Ron had used his spare time to write up several scripts for the Blaine County Radio Community Hour. He wouldn’t mind her help in editing them. Ron looked up at the sound of Wade’s voice from outside. The younger man nearly fell flat on his face as Ron opened the door.

“Ron? Shit,” Wade babbled, looking worried. “It’s Rosie, she—”  
  
Ron felt his heart drop as he moved past Wade, cursing his damn knee. He’d been freed from the massive splint he’d been forced to wear, now back to his old brace as a safety precaution. Gripping the edge of the car door, he peered in. Rosie had bandages wrapped around her arms, a nasty bruise under her left eye. She was weakly clutching her heavily bleeding side, barely conscious.

“Hey!” Ron said, opening the door and tapping her cheek. “Look at me, Beautiful. What the hell happened to you?”

Rosie weakly looked up at him, mouthing the word “work”.

“Work?” Ron repeated, feeling a surge of anger as Rosie struggled to get out of the car. He helped her up and Wade took over, trying to help her into the trailer.  
  
“I—I think we should get her to the clinic, Ron,” Wade said, pressing a hand against the wound to Rosie’s side. “She’s bleedin’ pretty bad.”

Jakowski growled under his breath.  
  
“What did he have her do?”

“I—I don’t know. Something about the Lost MC…”  
  
_“He had her face a fucking gang?!”_  
  
“Well she musta won,” Wade said, “she wasn’t followed.”  
  
Ron sighed. He wasn’t keen on setting foot in a hospital again, but Sandy Shores Medical Center was more trustworthy in his eyes than Mount Zonah down in the city. If he lost her…

“Get her to the car, I’ll drive.”  
  
Wade gently set Rosie in the backseat, still applying pressure to the wound in her side.

“You know her?” Ron asked as he drove down the way to the medical center. They were thankful as a few medics were standing around outside and saw them coming. As Rosie was taken away, Wade looked down at the blood covering his palm and wiped it on his shirt.

“Of course I do, she’s Chef’s younger sister. Takes me out for ice cream some times. She’s nice to me. Even went to a Fatal Incursion concert with me a month or so ago. Slapped me when I tried to kiss her. Didn’t know she was your girl, Ron.”

“Does Chef know about this? Trevor sending her out on this…suicide mission? Or how he’s abandoned all of us.”

“I dunno, I haven’t talked to Chef in a while,” Wade said.  
  
Ron groaned, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his hair. He had been annoyed that Trevor hadn’t returned his messages, all but abandoning everyone in Sandy Shores after meeting up with his old friend from way back when. Now, things had changed. Ron wasn’t annoyed, he was _furious_. For all Trevor’s demands on loyalty and obedience, he wasn’t one to practice what he preached. Fuck him.

“My ‘best friend’ abandons me, I’m suffering from major withdrawal and my girlfriend nearly dies in a shootout with a biker gang. This is my life right now.”  
  
Wade sheepishly looked from Rosie’s car to Ron.  
  
“You should probably stay with her,” he said. “I’ll take her car and get it cleaned up. I owe her that much.”  
  
Ron nodded and walked into the clinic, sinking into a chair in the waiting room. After being questioned by the nurses, they left him alone and he was permitted to sit in Rosie’s room. She was either asleep or heavily sedated. He sat down in a chair at her side, hoping it was the former. Dimming the light on his phone, he sent out a few text messages, one to Chef and the other to Rosie’s friend Ash, explaining what happened. No replies, but he assumed they’d be arriving. He looked to Rosie, wincing at the blood bag and IVs hooked up to her arms.

“I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life,” he said. “Things I haven’t even told you yet. Wait 'til I have a few glasses of that pecan whiskey you keep at your place, I’ll spill everything thing then, I promise. Susan was one thing, but you… you’re the only thing keeping me from slitting my own throat at this point. You listen to me. Please don’t leave me like everyone else.”  
  
Ron wasn’t even sure she could hear him, but the words kept tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“You’re the only thing in life that I got right.”


End file.
